


Bleeding through the seams

by RatTale



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Abuse, Almost Drowning, Angst, Dark Past, Dark subject matter, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Hurt Derek Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, Pedophilic thoughts (NOTHING GRAPHIC), Prentiss is a bad-ass, Suggestions of abuse, poor Morgan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27681224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatTale/pseuds/RatTale
Summary: The team know, in an off-hand sort of way, that Hotch has stitched himself together, most likely a few times in his life. Mostly those stiches hold, keeping all the ugly bits of his history and character beneath a veil of tight control.But there are times when those seams begin to strain against the pressure, when Hotch sometimes even pulls them back a little, when they bleed thick rivulets of story and emotion, revealing all that he tries to forget. When they happen, it never fails to break their hearts.A series of One-shots where each of the main-seven members of the BAU get a glimpse into Hotch's past or psyche. Essentially just an excuse to have angst, Hotch-Whump, dramatic reveals and some Hotch-character exploration.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & David Rossi, Aaron Hotchner & Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner & Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner & Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner & The BAU Team, Penelope Garcia & Aaron Hotchner
Comments: 36
Kudos: 83





	1. Masturbation

The burning tension built and vibrated beneath his skin. Reid’s hand twitching with a need – to scratch to gesture, to do anything but what he really wanted, _needed_ to do. Half of the police station was shooting him odd glances, his team members each raising eyebrows or voicing intermittent soft concern. But he couldn’t help it. Reid desperately needed a wonderful burning _release_ of the one-hand variety. And he wasn’t getting it.

It’s been 18 days, six hours and 32 minutes since his last one. With so many cases one right after the other he’d been either too tired or more often than not, sharing a room to even attempt a quick hand-job, let alone a full hot masturbation session – which his skin _ached_ for. These ‘sessions’, as he liked to refer to them, had started years ago when he had just gotten out of University, when his body had suddenly woken up to a delicious degree. They helped him focus, helped him relax, helped him _think_. Nothing in the world even came _close_.

Pressing his fingers into his closed eyes, Reid tried to push down his growing… problem and focus instead on the case they were working on.

“Reid?” asked Morgan 32 seconds later, “You okay, man?”

“Fine.” He all but snapped, releasing his eyes, seeing dancing blotches of sporadic colors. “Just thinking.”

“You’ve been a little twitchy.” Morgan pressed, dropping his feet from the table to the floor, “Maybe you should ease up on the caffeine.”

“My body is so used to caffeine it cannot have a ‘rush’ as you would call it, I am technically immune to the effects of coffee.” He stabbed a large circle on the map, “I’m _fine_.”

Morgan thankfully dropped it and refocused on the files in front of him.

Six long, aching hours later Hotch came in to tell them to head back to the hotel. They weren’t making any headway and he wanted them all rested. No one needed to be asked twice, and soon they were all piling into the SUV. Hotch was staying behind, he needed to clear something up, and Reid felt his heart begin to pound.

Hotch was staying behind. He and Hotch were sharing a room. Already his hand started to itch. His entire body tingling with growing excitement. The polite part of his brain his mother raised wanted to rather wait until he got home, but with the string of bad luck recently, and such a beautiful bit of grace being thrown his way, he made up his mind to have a quick session in their hotel room.

He couldn’t _wait_.

By the time he stepped into the room, he was flushed, already half-hard and aching, burning for the first touch. He flicked on the light and ripped off his jacket. Dropping on the bed, Reid quickly unbuckled his pants and slid his hands inside to take himself in hand. Gasping he let his mouth part, gently pulling himself free and running his hand up and down. Almost immediately he felt his body relax as he teased himself, slowly bringing himself up to full flushed hardness.

 _Yes, oh fuck yes_!

Soon he was panting under his hand, bucking his hips with the motion. He wouldn’t last long, it didn’t matter, he didn’t need a long session, he just needed _one_. He quickly reached around to grab the small bottle on the table, and squirted some cool gel into his hand. Grabbing himself firmly again he gasped at the sudden slick sensation and started pumping hard, the build growing behind his eyes, his heart hammering, hips thrusting, breath catching in his throat. He was so close, tethering near the edge, so wonderfully close to that bliss-

The door opened, Reid shot up – catching a bare glimpse of his superior’s face – and the door slammed shut.

 _Fuck_. Reid stumbled form the bed, his legs wobbly, the floor suddenly uneven. Fuck, fuck, fuck _fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_ -

The bathroom door snapped shut and he grabbed the sink for support. His body now hot with shame and humiliation. Please no, please don’t let this be real! It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t any kind of fucking fair! His hand slapped on the counter. How the hell was he supposed to look Hotch in the eye again? What must he _think_? _“Fuck!”_

His hand slapped on the hard counter again, once and twice more until it stung. Reid curled over and pressed his face into the hard marble, trying to bring himself down from the burning shame. His eyes pricked with tears, he refused to let them fall. It wasn’t _fair_.

He stood like that, frozen and on the edge of tears until he heard the door open again, heard Hotch move around, get dressed, and finally slide into bed. The light dipped on the other side of the bathroom, but Reid refused to move for some time. As long as he was in here, he could save face, pretend it never happened.

After a long, trembling hour he finally crept out, and slipped into his pajamas before creeping into bed.

He wouldn’t sleep.

* * *

Thankfully they solved the case early the next morning. 

Hotch had stirred just as the sun started it's slow press into the room, and Reid had quietly listened as his superior dragged himself out of bed with some effort. Hotch turned out to be a surprisingly slow riser. Reid had barely breathed as Hotch got dressed, only offering a quick 'Mm' when Hotch told him he'd meet him downstairs. At least the man was giving him space.

At the station he barely looked at him, and praised every deity he knew that the UnSub was caught only thirty minutes after arriving.

On the Jet he kept his distance, hiding behind three books, refusing to even look up, and when he reached home he buried himself into his bed and tried to will the last 24 hours away.

For the next week or so Reid made sure to avoid his boss as much as possible. Every time he laid eyes on him, he felt his face grow warm and his hands curl into tight fists. Hotch for his part stayed his own stoic strict self, and if Reid thought he might have the decency to blush, he was sorely disappointed. And to fucking top it off, his ability to masturbate had fled. Hotch was haunting him.

Every time Reid even attempted it his whole body would flush and curl in on itself in shame, killing his arousal flat-out. He couldn’t bring himself to even try. Hotch’s face, coated in shock and surprise, stuck to his mind like black tar, staining everything it touched.

Fuck, _fuck_ it all!

Of course, this _would_ have the adverse side-effect on his mood. Reid realized quickly he was becoming downright impossible to work with. But he could care less, he was quite frankly thinking of putting in a transfer just to spare himself this sick embarrassment.

It was on day nine when Hotch finally cornered him one early morning in the parking lot. He looked like his old usual self, suit pressed, hair slick and expression blank. Reid could feel his heart already race, his face beginning to burn - masked only by the rising fury bred from unreleased tension. He could barely look him in the eye. What did he want? Can’t he just leave him alone?

“Can we talk?” Hotch asked. His expression was tight, and fiercely guarded, giving Reid no clue to his mood or motive. For a full moment he considered storming off. He could claim a headache and just put in the transfer the second he got back to his desk.

Reid swallowed and quietly steeled himself, it wouldn’t do, he thought. At least let him say what he wanted to and get it over with. After a quick nod, Hotch took him to a secluded spot just by the doors, where no one could see them. “I wanted to talk out here, to make it less official.” Said Hotch at length, “You have been avoiding me.”

“No, I haven’t.” He immediately snapped. His dropped his eyes to the tar, and turned away slightly.

Hotch sighed, his entire body sagging slightly around the action. “You can drop that stubborn act, Reid. I know you have. Three of our colleagues have noted it as well. And I also know why.”

Reid tensed, his heart beginning to hammer like a galloping thoroughbred, beating a full-on race in his chest, ready to explode as a finish line.

“Look, Reid I’m sorry that I walked in on you, I should have knocked and that is on me.” Hotch said, voice as matter-of-factly as if they were discussing the colour of the SUV and not Reid jerking off in their shared hotel room. “But it’s really nothing to be ashamed of –“

“Spare me, Hotch!” Reid snapped back, the fire dying on his face and igniting in his chest. His full three weeks of frustration coupled with pained humiliations rising like a tsunami of destruction. “Spare me all of your appeasements and sympathies! I doubt you’ve _ever_ had your _boss_ walk in on you while you were masturbating! You can’t have _any_ idea how that feels!” His chest heaved, breath rushing in and out, shuddering and loud.

Hotch stills, “No,” he said, and if at all possible, his expression became even more stoic. “No, you’re right I’ve never had my boss see me in such a position.”

Reid snorted, “Then you –“

“But my father did.”

The bark of laughter was a little surprising, but he pressed on, rubbing his face with his hands to bring his anger down a little. It wasn’t really working. “Did he give you the same ‘it’s perfectly natural’ speech? Did he try and make you feel _better_ about it? Did it work? Because I can tell you it doesn’t! And I don’t need you to drag my humiliation out so that you can make yourself feel better about catching me in such a position!” He wanted to rage on, to continue screaming until his throat was raw and this whole situation disappeared. But he reeled it in, realizing the amount of damage he could do if he didn’t stop.

In the ensuing silence Hotch’s voice seemed almost too loud. “Not at all,” he swallowed, “My father offered no sympathy or understanding, He beat me first and then afterward tied my hands to my bedposts every night for around six months.”

Reid felt his eyes widen; his pounding heart jumping into his throat, turning it tight. Hotch’s eyes were pinned to a spot just past Reid’s shoulder, his expression unreadable. Then somehow, after that horrible confession he managed a faded smile, “My right hand still doesn’t have feeling in the pinky and ring-finger.” And the floor just fell out from under him. It couldn't be true. But Hotch wouldn't, he wouldn't lie about something like this.

Hotch shook his head, as if shaking away the bad memory, “I just wanted to say, Reid” and he smiled again, tight, “I don’t think any less of you. And nor should you. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

No, Reid thought, it wasn’t, but how long had it taken _Hotch_ to convince _himself_ of that?. His eyes suddenly stung with tears; his own humiliation fading in the face of such a horrible confession. “I’m sorry.” he managed to force past his tight throat.

Hotch’s smile was softer, but still a little strained. He patted Reid on the shoulder, “No worries. I just wanted to clear the air. Now come on.” He guided him to the elevator by the shoulder, “I don’t know about you, but I could use a cup of tea.”

As they walked Reid realised that an ugly festering monster had died in his chest, leaving him far lighter than before. When they stepped on the elevator Reid swallowed, in turn realising all at once what Hotch had _given_. A part of a history he never spoke of, something Hotch kept close to his chest, sewn up by equal parts secrecy and shame. Held together by sheer willpower and strength of character. Something they had all quietly speculated about, but never seen. And now Hotch had shared it openly with Reid, pulling away those tight seems to ease his mind.

It had worked, but _still_.

Tentatively Reid reached out and touched Hotch’s arm to get his attention. When he looked up, clearly a little surprised at the gesture, Reid said softly, hoping to convey everything in three words; “Thank you, Hotch.”

This time when Hotch smiled, his dimples were on full display.


	2. Underwater

“Do we _have_ to do this?” Prentiss asked ( _not_ whined), even as she stepped into the freezing swimming pool. Not freezing per se, but cold enough to not want to be here and rather be inside where it was warm, comfy and _dry_.

“You need to learn to defend yourself while being held underwater.” Hotch, already in the pool, dressed in swimming shorts and a t-shirt, still looked as stoic as ever. How did the guy manage it?

Prentiss splashed a little closer, she crossed her arms over her chest and shot him a fierce glare “I know that. It was a mistake, I didn’t react fast enough and –“

“You didn’t know what to do.” He finished, voice becoming harder. “You’re a field agent, and you almost drowned last week because you didn’t know how to throw someone off who had you pinned under the water.” There was an edge to his voice, something feral and unkind. Prentiss bristled.

“I am _not_ a recruit.” She snapped, “I’ve been doing this for way longer than most. I know how to take care of myself, Hotch.”

“I know,” the voice softened, “You and Morgan are the most capable members on my team, but I am here to make sure you are ready for anything, and last week I noticed something that could be improved.” The softness in his voice eased some of her ire. Hotch was Hotch he was just looking out for them. Wanted to make sure they were all safe.

Such a fucking mom.

Prentiss rolled her eyes splashed closer. “You owe me a drink after this.”

He flashed a tiny smile, “Okay, to start off, you’re going to pin me under the water.”

She stared at him, “You serious?”

For the next thirty minutes, Prentiss was forced to hold Hotch down, while Hotch broke free, pulled her down with him, tripped her up and twisted her arm to release her hold. Even with all her training, he managed to break free every time. To say that it irked her was an understatement.

“Alright,” Hotch said, wiping some of the water from his face. “Now that you know what to do, you’re going to do it on me.”

Prentiss nodded and smiled, “Bring it on.”

Hotch didn’t smile “If you run out of breath, tap me on the arm and I will immediately let go. Understood?”

Something in his voice made her pause. Not angry per se, more nervous. She disregarded it. ‘Nervous Hotch’ was an oxymoron if she’d ever heard one. She nodded slowly, watching him carefully. “Understood.”

Without another word he stepped closer, put a rough hand on her chest and started pushing her down, supporting her back as she dipped under the water. Such care was almost staggering as if he was afraid of hurting her. A pulse of irritation shot through her like liquid fire.

If he’s doing this because she’s a _woman…_

Riding on the anger, Prentiss _acted_. Reaching up, she grabbed Hotch by the shirt, and slammed her foot down against his stationary one, giving her ample leverage to –

Splash!

Prentiss spluttered to the surface and turned quickly to find Hotch beside her, sopping wet and laughing, “Not bad!” his smile was quite contagious. “You’re stronger than you look.”

Prentiss smirked, “For a girl you mean.”

The humour died, “What? No, I -”

“Hotch?” they both turned to see a rather bemused JJ standing at the edge of the pool. “You two enjoying yourselves?”

“Training,” he said quickly already making his way to the edge, “Is it a case?”

Her expression sobered, “Yeah. I have it all set up when you’re ready.” Hotch climbed out of the pool and grabbed a towel.

“Thank you, I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He said and walked off.

JJ surreptitiously watched her superior head for the locker-rooms, his whole body hugged tightly by the sopping wet clothing.

“Enjoying the view?” Prentiss ventured.

JJ turned and smiled sweetly. “Who wouldn’t?” she asked and headed for the exit. Prentiss shook her head and got out of the pool.

* * *

“FBI – _stop_!” Hotch’s voice carried over the trees and instantly they were all running towards him. Prentiss trailed just behind Morgan, barely able to keep pace through the thicket, branches and underbrush constantly tripping her up. She gasped, the smouldering heat sending streaks of sweat down her face, but she kept running.

A sudden splash almost made her stumble. Had they run that far? Were they at the lake already? But Morgan didn’t slow down. Breaking through the trees he charged ahead, Prentiss pushed through just as Morgan hit the water running, arms pumping to keep him moving towards the struggling men.

Prentiss skidded to a halt, barely registering Rossi rushing past. In the water, she could see Jerome holding a struggling Hotch down. His arms coming up in sporadic arcs, legs kicking aimlessly, failing desperately.

He was going to _drown_.

“Get the hell off him!” Morgan hollered as he dove forwards, hitting Jerome in the side, knocking him clean off of Hotch and straight into the water. A moment later Hotch breached, gasping and coughing, and even from a distance, she could see the pale face and wide eyes. He was completely disoriented.

“Hotch!” Rossi cried just as the man in question’s legs buckled and he hit the shallow water again. Prentiss shook her head; it wasn’t even that deep. Four feet at most. Rossi grabbed his arm even as Hotch coughed and shot out a few ‘I’m okay’s’ as he was wont to do. Behind them Morgan had cuffed their UnSub, dragging him out of the water, but Prentiss only had eyes on Hotch who was thankfully stumbling to shore and led to a bolder to sit down.

Rossi was talking to him, but Hotch waved him away, no doubt telling him he was fine. As Rossi walked away with a huff Prentiss kept watching Hotch. Why hadn’t he broken free? He knew how so why not just break free? Part of her wanted to ask, but seeing Hotch, head resting in his hand, hunched over and shivering, she simply didn’t have the heart to.

Rossi returned ten minutes later with a paramedic, and Hotch was checked over.

He had no injuries.

* * *

The ride was quiet. After finishing up at the station they’d all packed and headed out, Rossi taking the wheel with Hotch sitting beside him in the passenger seat. The sun had set, but they still had a good few hours’ drive ahead of them.

Prentiss couldn’t stop thinking about that afternoon. From all perspectives, Hotch should have been able to break free from Jerome’s grasp, but he hadn’t. Case in point he might not have been able to. He had his gun. The argument could be made that the gun had been damaged in the water, but then why not use his other manoeuvres to break free?

“Why didn’t you break free?”

Prentiss blinked, turning her head to carefully glance at the others but they were all sleeping. She looked at Hotch, who was staring out the window.

“Aaron?” Rossi pressed.

The silence felt oppressive, thick with anticipation. She opened her mouth to press even harder, but then he spoke. His voice soft, far off, as if pulling it from a place he couldn’t quite reach. “Memories.”

Rossi shifted, then “Dad?”

She saw Hotch nod. The street lights casting him in a bright white glow before dipping them back in darkness. She swallowed and waited. A few more minutes passed in utter silence, then.

“I’d been reading in my room.” his voice was lifeless, “Father stormed in, angry enough to spit snakes. I’d asked what’s wrong, but he just grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the bathroom.”

Another street lamp and Prentiss could see he had his eyes closed. Her own heart started ramming. She’d never heard a single word about his past, she’d guessed, hell everyone had made a guess, but no one _knew_. She felt like she was intruding.

“The bathtub was full of water. I’d forgotten to pull the plug. He screamed, yelled at me, then slapped me.”

She closed her eyes.

“I hit the water, but before I could get out, he grabbed me by the throat and pushed me down. I struggled, but I couldn’t break free.” A long pause. Then in a thick voice. “I thought I was going to die.”

“How old were you?” Rossi asked softly.

“Eight.” Hotch cleared his throat, and Prentiss looked at him again. “My mom came in and she pulled him off, the only time I can remember her standing up to him.” He swallowed, “Today it just… felt similar. I don’t know why, but it just did.” He sighed, “I’m sorry.”

Rossi remained quiet, then slowly he reached out and pulled Aaron’s hand into his own, “It’s okay Aaron, everything is fine, now. You don’t need to apologize. Everything is fine.”

Hotch nodded but did not reply. His hand remained secure in Rossi’s, a small safety blanket against a windstorm of turmoil. She smiled a little. That little blanket had far more strength than anyone can imagine.

Glancing to her right and she spotted Morgan, his eyes open and shining. He looked at Prentiss., and after a moment they both nodded and closed their eyes.

They might not understand it all, but they understood a little better now. Nothing would leave this car, but it was still nice to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the starting point for this little series. Hope you all enjoyed it!


	3. Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ WARNINGS!
> 
> First off, I like Morgan, and I love his backstory.
> 
> That being said, this chapter is DARK. It touches on the idea of a victim of paedophilia having paedophile thoughts himself later in life - NOTHING IS GRAPHIC, only SUGGESTIONS. I found a study which suggests that this happens to around 35 per cent of men who were victims of sexual assault as children. This story sympathises with them, Morgan in particular. They need support and love and help to get them through it. 
> 
> That being said, if you do not like this type of subject matter, then rather skip it and wait for the next one :)

The thoughts come unbidden, like a sudden bout of unexpected nausea. Children, always children evoke these awful thoughts without ever meaning to.

Morgan hates it, hates that he can’t control them or keep them from manifesting. He is _terrified_ he will act on them. He curses Buford as much as he can without screaming his throat raw.

It’s worse (so much worse) when it’s someone he _knows_ , and he feels his heart begin to beat like a battering ram trying to break clean out of his chest and leave it splintered beyond repair. Hotch is lifting his son up onto his hip, his smile warm and kind and sweet – something they never see – and Morgan is trying, desperately trying, not to look at the boy in his arms.

He feels sick. It’s like a dead rat in his chest, rotting up his throat making him gag. He flees to the bathroom and breathes - quietly wishing he could amputate his imagination to just stop the fucking thoughts.

He curses Buford again for good measure.

It takes only a month of the growing terror before Hotch summons him to his office, and Morgan already knows what it’s about. His hands are already curling into readymade hammers, eager to slam down at a moment’s notice.

Hotch asks him to close the door as he sits in the chair opposite the couch, and Morgan’s fist almost flies out. But after a breath he holds back and does as he’s told, taking a seat across from Hotch on the couch.

“Are you alright?” Hotch opens, his expression softer than normal yet lined with the intensity which never quite leaves him.

Morgan wants to deny it, wants to shoot the instant bullet of ‘I’m fine,’ but he can’t, Hotch can see through him as easily as if he had x-ray vision, and it would be an insult to both of them to try and hide anything. He doesn’t answer. Most likely more damning than answering.

For a long time, Hotch doesn’t say anything. Just watches him. Letting those x-ray eyes soak in every detail he needs. After a time he sits back, and then, “How long has this been going on?”

In response he closes his eyes and waits for his heart to calm down. He waits for the hammer to fall, for Hotch to tell him to leave his team. He is waiting for the inevitable firing that will happen the second he starts talking. He doesn’t want to lose this, he doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want to have these fucking thoughts.

“Morgan,” and here he does look up, because he owes Hotch that much, “I’m not angry.” He says and his expression is gentle enough that he can just about believe him.

“I want it to stop…” it’s the first admission, the horrible pull of the curtain to reveal his depravity, and like a child he presses his face into waiting hands, hoping to hide away from the inevitable repercussion he cannot run from. “I can’t make it stop.”

The silence falls like a physical blow, and Morgan suddenly wants to run. Feeling sick for ever voicing anything at all. Buford destroyed him a long time ago, and now it was starting to show - only from the wrong way around - and Morgan, he wants to make it _stop_.

“Ask me why I never kill flies.” His voice floats up and through his veil of misery to settle like an electric shock to his thoughts, scattering them to the wind.

He looks ups. “What?”

Hotch’s expression morphs into a mockery of amusement, “Ask me. You’ve wanted to for a while now.”

He’s right. Ever since he saw Hotch wave a fly out the window for the second time in three days, he’s wanted to ask. It’s an odd thing for an Alpha-male to do. They usually handle such things with more force, more confidence. But a fly makes Hotch uncertain, careful even. He’s never seen Hotch so much as attempt to kill one. After a pause, Morgan swallows and finally asks. “Okay, why don’t you kill flies?”

“Because I used to tear their wings off.”

The statement seeps into him like molten lava. Slow, but burning him to the very core. “What?”

Hotch shifts and sits back, creating a distance that will never be needed, but one that _he_ always seems to need, “I used to do it often. I would tear them off and … watch the fly walk.” He is keeping his face passive in that way that Morgan knows he is trying to control a visceral reaction.

Hotch shifts again as if fighting not to cross his arms, “I stopped when I realised what it meant, what it said about me. But today I can’t kill flies.” He makes eye contact, “It can’t make up for what I did, but somehow I hope it balances out.” He leans forward, “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about it, but I don’t _do_ it.”

Morgan feels like his world has crashed around him. He knows what it means, the implications, the realisation that Hotch thinks like that. That his thoughts fall into dark passages, that they must have _evolved_. He wants to ask into what, but he doesn’t, he wants to yell at him, but he doesn’t, he wants to hug him…

He suddenly understands in horrible clarity why Hotch understands their UnSubs so damned well.

After a long pause Hotch nods as if accepting some unspoken answer, “Talk to me, or to someone else, but don’t let it fester and don’t let it control you.”

Morgan leaves the office a few moments later. His body floating, his mind buzzing, he needs to sit down. When he collapses into his chair it takes him only a moment to pick up the phone and makes an appointment with his therapist.

A few days later he is heading to the kitchen when he spots Hotch in the cafeteria. He is, with some effort chasing a fly out the window, and in that instant, Morgan feels a part of him stabilize and another break at the sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what you guys thought! :)


End file.
